Muslim Fears

By Leo G. Hart

When an American real estate company owned by an Arabic consortium chooses the small town of Bridgewater to house a mosque that will be an international showpiece of Islam, community residents do not know how to react.

Dan Howard, a freelance photographer, is one of those who are worried. His daughter, Beth, has become friends with Reza Husain, a Muslim. The relationship seems innocent enough, but he has no idea that she is about to become a pawn in a vicious power struggle between two ideologies.

The town's Muslims and Christians seem to be coexisting but then Reza's father, Mr. Husain, is found murdered. As the days go by without an arrest, the media clamors for more details and the town slips deeper into disarray.

Acting Police Chief Bill Lacy asks Reza to investigate his father's death. No one knows it, but the mosque will be the site of a final showdown, and the lives of Bridgewater's residents will be changed forever.

Taking readers from the sands of Saudi Arabia, to the streets of Paris to a rural, small town, Muslim Fears is a murder mystery that is both timely and provocative.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 10, 2008
• ISBN: 9780595608102

Leo G. Hart

Leo G. Hart retired from the Denver Mint in 1991 and has been studying the Muslim religion ever since. A Colorado resident, he teaches Sunday school and is a member of the Salvation Army.

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Muslim Fears

Copyright © 2008 by Leo G. Hart

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are usedfictitiously.

ISBN: 978-0-595-48714-1 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-0-595-60810-2 (ebook)

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER ONE 

Everything begins with a song—at least it was that way for Dan. He never carried that old Vic Damone song far from his lips. He hummed it on his way: It’s a lonesome old town … how I wish you’d come back to me … It was like that when he crossed 120th Avenue, one of four roads that marked off the city limits. The avenue paralleled a shallow but wide river. He finally got there; he was in Bridgewater. Population: twenty-five thousand.

Although Dan Howard had never lived in Bridgewater, he had a past pleasantly connected to it in three ways. First, he and his family, before the separation, often would eat at the Riverside Chateau, an expensive restaurant on the riverfront, but worth the price considering its unequaled outside view. Second, his longtime friends, Mac and his wife, Susan, lived in the gorgeous Blue Lake Valley. The McDonalds liked to entertain. And third, Dan, who once worked as a professional photographer for a newspaper, made Bridgewater his hobby, which happened to be taking pictures. Each year, he lived and breathed the awesome colors of this gracious and small community and had the pictures to show it. But Dan suspected that things in this town were about to change.

Dan never passed through Bridgewater without looking up his old friend. Mac had grown senile since retirement. That was his first stop today.

On this visit, Dan informed Mac, in his usual awkward style of talking, of his attempt to buy a house. Around here you can’t buy property.

Mac gave him a curious look. Maybe the Bridgewater houses are out of your price range?

Price range, is it? Dan shot back. My realtor learned, through some investigation, I might add, that the market’s dry. Dan left his friend completely confused.

In his best years, Dan had a reputation for being a top-rated photographer with a good newspaper. In recent months, however, he worked only freelance because, as he put it, My past boozin’ got me fired, and now I’m looking. Today he was looking in Bridgewater and thinking of doing a landscape portfolio.

It’s the colors and the unmitigated beauty that draw him to the place. He grabbed his camera and stepped away from the car. Peeking through the viewfinder, he whispered, If I were blind, I’d want to smell what I’m looking at. It’s that … remarkable.

The days that followed, he took pictures almost nonstop. Dan was a few miles from the next picturesque place, a four-block strip called The Walk of the Trees, and as he approached the turn, the treetops popped into view. The sky seemed to cast every shade of yellow and gold, while the sun’s rays stabbedat the trees—something like swords piercing through the open spaces.

Dan bent over to tie his shoe and nearly fell because of the sound behind him. He looked and cursed at the same time. A police car was nestled against Dan’s back bumper. The officer lumbered forward. I’m sorry, said a tall man in a dark blue uniform. Must have been the slippery leaves. I’m chasing a speeder, and your car happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Don’t worry; I’m not going to give you a ticket!

Gosh, thanks, officer, it’s my lucky day—no ticket, just a damaged rear end! He supposed he replied in less than a controlled voice. Dan knew he said the wrong thing. Maybe he shouldn’t have talked at all.

Say, I remember you. You’re that drunk I arrested. When was it, last year? Not getting in trouble again, are you?

Again, Dan couldn’t help himself. "Well, I like this place so much I’ve been thinking of moving here. This place brings out a warm, fuzzy closeness with its finest. But right now, I might pick up a little cash by doing some freelance photography. That’s what I do. And to kill two birds with one stone, I dropped in on my old buddy Mr. McDonald. He retired after working in your town as a newspaper man."

The officer reacted in a somewhat surprised way. That must be old Mac who lives up the way in Blue Lake Valley?

Yeah, said Dan, with his jagged voice. Well, now that I introduced myself, I best see about getting my car fixed.

Sometimes the best friendships begin under the worst circumstances. That’s how it was with Officer Bill Lacy. He took an inexplicable liking to Dan.

I feel bad about what happened. And it appears Mr. McDonald is a mutual friend, so what do you say, I have a second house next to mine up for sale and empty. You can use it. Your car should be ready in a few days. Officer Lacy rubbed his chin, thinking he couldn’t be this lonely!

Lacy made some coffee and found some old donuts. Both men sat down at the kitchen table. Lacy spoke first. Call me ‘Bill.’ Outside, call me ‘Officer Lacy.’ I’m going on thirty years with the Bridgewater Police Department. I’ve been acting chief for years. They might hire a permanent one this year. My mother died last month. Today, I put her place on the market. Nice home, two bedrooms.

For reasons not easily understood, Lacy preferred to be called Officer rather than Chief. What’s more, he didn’t much relish the paperwork, but he took his position of acting chief very seriously. Usually, Lacy divided the workday between street patrol and office work.

Wondering how a day like this could happen, Dan stood up and civilly said, Thanks for the favor. If you give me your mom’s house key, I’ll go get some rest. The two men walked to the door. Neither could know the things that were about to transpire, things that would forever change Bridgewater. Tomorrow was two hours away.

Dan was half in and half out of the shower when he heard a hard knock at the door. Hurriedly, he wrapped himself in a towel and opened it. The figure of a tall man filled his vision.

Sorry to awaken you, Officer Lacy said, but I made a pot of coffee, enough for the both of us, if you care to come over.

Dan nodded his head, got dressed, and headed next door.

Thanks, Dan said, after the first gulp. The coffee was good. From the perfect arrangement of the kitchen, Dan gathered that Officer Lacy learned housekeeping from his mother. In this placid community, anyone, even a cop, could pursue a homey life, unlike those on Law and Order.

He never felt comfortable in front of cops, but Lacy was different. He reckoned Officer Lacy’s natural easiness swept away any apprehension. Maybe Bridgewater would change things around. Sitting across from Lacy and drinking coffee was relaxing and not the time for an emotional betrayal. Dan held back. Damn, he thought, how can a past so easily get the best of you? Before Dan drifted too far, Officer Lacy brought him back.

Hey, did you see the ‘sold’ sign. The sign must’ve gone up very early, because it sure as shootin’ wasn’t there last night and …

Dan interrupted. I’m looking for a house; need more bedrooms than you got. Just a few days ago, my realtor initiated steps. But nothing came of it. According to the realtor, the Muslims are waiting in line to buy the next one.

Officer Lacy tried to soften Dan’s anxiety. Oh, I’m sure there’s plenty of houses on the market. There’s no sense in what you’re saying. Lacy stood and made a motion toward the door as he continued to talk, Got to get going now. Go get some rest. We’ll talk later. Here’s the key to that little blue car in front. Officer Lacy finished with a smile. Stay out of trouble!

Dan called Mac and set up another visit for later that day, since it seemed like he’d be around for a while. He appreciated Mac’s reputation as a newspaperman, which meant Mac once looked hard for a good story. The really seedy stuff required extra work, partly because of Bridgewater’s unwritten, self-imposed ten o’clock curfew. They called him the Harper Valley Investigator, after the song. Mac liked it.

But Mac’s failing health and his wife’s cancer led to their retirement. As far as his health, he was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease. His failure to remember or grasp concepts came with increasing frequency. On the good days, he cried because he knew that, on the bad ones, he’d default in his responsibilities to his wife, Susan. Despite this, she never turned away from what strength he had.

The sign on his realtor’s office door read: Out to lunch. Return at noon. Dan noticed a well-advertised restaurant across the street. He thought about the many ways eggs can be cooked. The menu listed twenty-four breakfast plates with eggs. For a man whose choice never changed, he found the menu staggering. He stuck to the usual and ordered eggs with steak.

After eating, he leaned hard against the back of his chair, holding his third cup of coffee. Dan lived on coffee. It helped him relax. Besides, he discovered long ago that a cup of coffee could absorb an ounce of depression! He looked at his watch. Time to go.

Dan paid his bill and walked across the street. This time, his realtor, Jack Smith, was in. They walked to a back office.

Well, Dan said, anything new coming on the housing market.

Before answering, Smith glanced at the day’s listing with a defeated look. I’m sorry, Dan. I’m in an awkward position. Maybe you should consider something outside of Bridgewater. I’m afraid the market is … all tied up. You know I tried hard for you. We did look for a house. They’re gobbled up before anyonehas a chance. I don’t know what to do. I have four more client-families. I just sent them away, and that’s not easy when it’s my job to help folks buy homes.

Before Smith could end whatever else he had to say, Dan jumped in. Who on earth is buying all the houses? Bridgewater might be small, but there ought to be a market here for everybody.

Smith revealed his personal frustration. "This whole thing will become public knowledge soon enough. I know I told you that a lot of Muslims were buying now, but it’s bigger than that. I’ve encountered an agency called Kingdom Developments. They have pages of Muslim clients, all with cash and all eager to buy in Bridgewater. They control the market, amigo! I know they got the pockets … Kingdom Developments sends me a commission of 1.5 percent for each house sold. Guess it’s to keep me happy for not complaining. I’m sorry, but as you see, I can’t help you!"

Both men stood; the meeting was over. Dan looked around the office; his eyes focused sharply on the oversized city map taped to the wall. He struck a pose that exhibited his full-faced smile. "Take that map down, amigo, no need to raise peoples’ hopes."

Dan scrapped the planned visit to the McDonalds. He called Mac to cancel and told him what the realtor had said; then, instead, he filled in the time by checking on his car. He turned left into the body shop, and near the front, he saw it, clearly still parked on the spot where the tow trucker left it. Customer service reminded Dan that work hadn’t been authorized. The requisite authorization remained a problem. On top of that, the shop had to have an approved payment plan!

If not for the broken taillights, he’d forget the whole thing. He managed a strained resolve to accept the fact that some days get no better. The body shop gave an estimated time of less than one week.

Thanks, Dan said. But he could not resist a parting shot. If you need help, give me a call.

With only two or three hours of good light left, Dan drove to his favorite place along the river. The people of Bridgewater, especially the seniors, loved it. Many of the specialty shops and the finest restaurants were neatly staggered along the sidewalk, and all the restaurants bragged about their perfect window view.

At that time of year, an emerald green color invaded the river, and along its banks laid a carpet of lush foliage. The area brought out memories. Thetimes were pleasant when he and his family dined with the McDonalds at the Riverside Chateau. That’s the place he’d find a table. It was coffee time.

Just as Dan relaxed, the restaurant’s manager approached. Say, you’re Mr. McDonald’s friend, aren’t you?

Dan followed the voice behind him until his eyes met the manager’s. That’s right, said Dan. In fact, he’s one of the reasons I’m in Bridgewater. It’s some business and some personal.

The manager was eager to continue the conversation. I’m Mr. Ray, the manager. I certainly remember you two coming here, and your family, too. Always a pleasure to serve you. Hope things are going fine. As for me, I’m returning to Pennsylvania. My kids tell me that I’m getting too old to live alone. Guess I’ll have to put my house up for sale and leave this beautiful place. Your waiter’s here. Enjoy the food.

Dan ordered his favorite French dinner with wine. The coffee afterward tasted good. Dan tipped an extra 10 percent. He prided himself on being a good tipper. A restaurant remembers folks like him. Dan started to leave, and then glanced back. A sixty-watt idea flashed in his head: Maybe I could buy the manager’s house before Kingdom Developments finds a buyer. Without further thought, he briskly walked over to Mr. Ray. Say, if you’re serious about your house, I’ll buy it. I’m a cash man. No long waiting period. If the price is fair, we can see a title company ASAP.

The manager looked somewhat surprised, but he needed a buyer. Three hundred thousand dollars—that’s my price.

Dan took the man’s right hand and pumped it several times. You just sold your house. Here’s my number; call me when you have a place to finish the deal. Oh, by the way, how many bathrooms do I have?

The manager blurted back, Is two enough?

While walking to the front door of Lacy’s guest house, Dan mumbled, Man, I sure hope the house is worth three hundred K. I’ve never reneged on anything in my life, except my family! Priming himself for a good rest, he took off his pants and found his best position on top of the bed, when the phone rang. It was Officer Lacy.

This is Bill Lacy. Listen, a stream of aroma swirling around a cup of coffee awaits you; besides, we need to talk! Something’s going on in this town. Not sure what. The Mayor said some big changes are coming our way. How is McDonald? And oh, I got a call from the auto body shop. They say this time tomorrow for sure. And send the bill to me; you are off the hook on this one.

Not since his wife and two daughters left had Dan kept any serious company—except for Mac. Now, he fell into a pondering sort of liking for Lacy. He regarded his stay with his host so much akin to the kind of indulgence he once enjoyed in the days before his separation. He could only wish that his sordidpast would not sneak back into his life. Dan accepted the offer.

When Dan arrived, Lacy wasn’t ready to tell him what was so important right away, sticking to small talk. Dan asked for more coffee. A friend would do that. Officer Lacy poured the last from the pot.

So, are you still house hunting? asked Lacy.

I offered to buy a house today. It happens that the manager of the Riverside Chateau is selling his. Sight unseen, I offered cash for his asking price, three hundred thousand dollars. Maybe we will be neighbors? Oh, about Mac, he’s on my visitation list. Dan put on his full-faced smile. Imagine me having a visitation list!

What you going to do, Dan? Tell me about your family? Lacy thought the time about right to delve into some of Dan’s background, if for no other reason than to quench his curiosity. From the first day they met, Lacy lived with an initial impression of Dan; he was both a common and uncommon man. Dan was a man with a defined past. Lacy had a habit of speculating about people; or was it as he sometimes thought, just feeling like a cop with nothing much to do.

I was once a well known photographer for a major paper in Boston, said Dan. "But I couldn’t hold my liquor. Finally, my wife, Marge, and my daughters had enough—so did the paper. I spent more time with a glass of beer in my hand and less with a camera. Everybody notices those things. After she left it only got worse—like that